My Queen requires, demands, total trust from her slave. But I was earlier unable to give it. So my Queen withdrew somewhat….she held back her extremity and her intensity. But I knew. She was not fully engaged. She is a Dominatrix of immense power….but she can choose whether or not to wield this power. For some time she chose not to.
We talked about this. I told her that my fears and mistrust of the past were long gone, resolved in my mind. I told her that I trusted her completely, without reservation. This was the pure truth.
A day later she disappeared into her room; I hardly noticed; she often goes to her room, for privacy or herown other reasons. I was busy on the computer. I was engrossed. She had earlier ordered me to wear a light silk dress; her slave is often feminized in this way. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. My Queen had made her entrance. But she is not an actress. Her entrances display her in her Dominatrix nature, full of power and feminine dominance. It is real, never merely an act. This night was no different. She stood there in purple latex and high boots, and carrying her whip….she was as tall as I am. Her face expressed pure power. Her presence was huge….I felt like a baby.
Suddenly her whip snaked out at speed, and lashed me across my side and back. It shocked me with the pain it delivered, even through the dress. She struck again, three times, all equally painful
Then she uttered one word: “Strip.” I obeyed, quickly. She fastened my big training collar around my neck. She pulled it tighter than usual, to the point of considerable discomfort, then buckled it. She kicked my feet wide apart, then with a long piece of white rope, she tied my balls, tight. I saw each one, separated, two purple marbles. It was painful, but not excruciating. She pulled the ropes behind me, and fastened them. I was required to face front. I didn’t know what she was doing behind me.
Then she ordered me to stretch my arms out in front. She quickly tied my wrists tight, again with white rope, then fastened them to a horizontal rail about four metres in front of me, pulling the rope tight. I stayed immobile, not daring to speak or move. Her presence, her movements, were formidable.
She moved behind me, and I felt her fumbling with one of the rings on my collar. Then my neck was pulled back, and I knew that she had fastened a rope somewhere behind me, keeping maximum tension on my neck through the collar. Immediately my breathing was reduced, rasping out of my throat. I moved my head this way and that, but could not reduce the pressure. She was finished. I was trapped. She stood and surveyed her work, smiling and sighing at every noisy breath I made. I stopped trying to ease the pressure; it was useless. Her ropes held me. I was suffering, but not intensely. But I wondered how long she would keep me like this. I was very uncomfortable, and could do nothing at all to relieve the stress my body was under. She had me exactly where and how she wanted me. I murmured “You are a genius, my Queen.” She smiled. And kept watching. My breathing continued, ragged. “A genius,” I muttered again, as much to myself as to her. Because she had studied me and played with me, off and on, for six months; she knew how to meet me in my deepest psyche, and had achieved what we both wanted in a matter of ten minutes. She knew me, that my fantasies are wild, extreme, and she knows herself. She is equally extreme. She held me there with her ropes, immobilized, caught in her web, breathing restricted, completely at her mercy.
Then she produced her whip again, and started striking. I knew why. I had had a moment of forgetting something important, and I had made a risque joke at her expense. I knew that I owed a debt of twenty strokes. But the ropes prevented the whip from landing on my back and sides. So she moved lower, and soon my buttocks and thighs were painfully lashed by the tip of her whip. I groaned. She laughed and sighed. She kept going. It seemed like more than twenty strokes, but eventually it finished. I was still captured, as before, with laboured breathing, but was sore as well.
Suddenly she started to release me. The ropes fell off me in a matter of seconds. I was free. Then the order came: “Go and lie on the bed.” Then I knew that she had not finished with me. Not at all.
I obeyed immediately, went and lay on the bed. She came quickly, carrying a green plastic bag, and straight away put it over my head. She sighed, pulled it tight, and I started to suffocate. She moaned and sighed as I struggled to breathe, then opened the bag. She repeated the process, again and again. Then she used her hand. The bag was secured, then she held my mouth and nose. Her hand and the plastic combined cut off my air totally. I tried to find oxygen, but there was none. I struggled. She refused me. I started kicking and writhing in desperation. Suddenly I could breathe again. Six breaths I was allowed, then her hand and the plastic came again, and I was denied again. Soon I was kicking and bucking on the bed, and she was laughing and moaning at my distress and my struggles; she held on and on, and I struggled harder and harder, and I was at the end. But then she released me again. I sucked in ten huge lungfuls, then again she stopped my breathing. But this time she sat on me over the plastic bag. Her weight crushed my nose, closed my mouth, and I was even more helpless and breathless. She sat and sat, and I could do nothing except feel her immovable weight, and the desperation in my lungs and in my mind. I tried to struggle, but it was hopeless. I was suffocating, no air, no escape. I was finished. Again she released me, elation and triumph in her cries. And she sat again. And again I was taken by despair and extremity. And again she released me. I wasn’t counting the times she repeated this, but it was many. Finally, she said “I want to see you cum.”
I was exhausted, flaccid. But I felt a liquid on my cock as she poured lubricant on me, and I started playing. The Queen demands; the slave obeys. I played. Then she used a silk scarf to caress my nipples. Heavenly pleasure. But I was not hard. It had been so extreme. She rolled the scarf into a rope, and tied it loosely around my neck. From the depths of my being, my words issued; “Strangle me, my Queen.”
She smiled, then pulled the scarf tight. I gasped as it reduced my air. She cried out. She pulled it tighter. She was in ecstasy now. I focused on her face, her eyes….her beautiful transcendent face. I saw her wrap the ends of the scarf around her hands for greater leverage, then she pushed down. My breathing was stopped entirely. I gazed into her eyes. I saw her wild intensity, her great extremity. I had no air, my throat was closed. She was strangling me, perhaps to death. I didn’t know, I didn’t care. My trust was total; she could do what she wanted. I was happy to be a sacrifice to this great Goddess.
She suddenly released and she laughed and laughed in her ecstasy, as I recovered and sucked oxygen into my starving lungs. And she did it again. Carefully wrapped the ends of the scarf around her hands again, gazing at me with full intention, and pulled it impossibly tight again. And again I was thrown deep into a breathless but accepting despair, as I tried to find air through my closed throat. Again I saw her wild ecstasy. Again she released me with peals of laughter. And she repeated and repeated. I didn’t cum. I was exhausted.
Then she said “I’ve finished.” She got off me, but quickly came back and repeated the strangling two or more times. Then again; “I’m finished.” And she slapped my face hard, twice, once on each cheek, in a final display of pure power and dominance.
This time she had really finished. She disappeared. I slowly recovered. I got up and tidied the room, folding her ropes as I went. I was exhausted, and elated. This was an extraordinary event. But I wanted to talk with her, to take in and try to integrate what had happened. But I heard her in her room, talking vehemently on the phone. She was gone, in another world already. Why so quickly? No matter. I slowly finished tidying, still stunned by what had happened. I prepared for bed, lay down, and thought and thought. I drifted towards sleep. Later I heard her come in, get into her bed. I thought, “Hope we can talk in the morning.” Then I was gone, sound asleep.